Thankful
by bingblot
Summary: He hadn't meant to say it but he realized belatedly that he really wanted Beckett to come over to the loft for Thanksgiving dinner. An impulsive invitation leads to Beckett having some new thoughts about Castle and their relationship. 3-part Thanksgiving fic set after 2x10 "One Man's Treasure."
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All things "Castle" belong to ABC.

Author's Note: This is not at all an appropriately seasonal fic, although in my defense, I did get the idea for it at Thanksgiving and it's just taken me until now to finish it since RL and other distractions got in the way. A three-part fic, taking place after 2x10 "One Man's Treasure."

 **Thankful**

 _Chapter 1_

Castle hurried into the precinct, heading straight through the bullpen for Beckett standing by the white board with the boys, feeling his heart lift a little in that way it had taken to doing whenever he saw Beckett. (He was always happy to see her. What? She was his friend; a man was allowed to be happy to see a friend. Really, that was all. And one of these days, he might even believe his own lies.) "Hey, guys. Sorry I couldn't make it earlier. What'd I miss?"

"Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence," Esposito greeted him dryly.

"Yeah, Castle, you missed the crime scene and it was a creepy one, right up your alley," Ryan chimed in.

"Ooh, really, a creepy one? What was it like?"

"A dark alley by an abandoned warehouse and rats had gotten to the body before we got there, eaten the face right off," Espo answered.

Castle shuddered a little and made a face of mingled revulsion and fascination. (What, he couldn't help it. He was a mystery writer; he lived for morbid details like this sometimes.)

"And the cause of death looked like a laser gun; there were burn marks around the wound," Ryan chimed in.

"A laser gun! That is so—" Castle blurted out with enthusiasm before his brain caught up and he broke off, narrowing his eyes at the boys. "Okay, I get it, you're pulling my leg. Haha. Beckett, you're the grown-up. What was the cause of death?"

"Well, it looked like the victim had been severely whipped by a red hot scourge so my best guess is that he was electrocuted by a giant jellyfish," Beckett deadpanned.

The boys smirked and Castle laughed, even as he felt the little flutter of silly delight that always accompanied one of Beckett's demonstrations of wit and her literary fluency. "That's a theory worthy of me, Beckett, and a Sherlock Holmes reference, too! I approve."

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Oh no, what have I done now? He was killed by a single GSW to the chest, small caliber. We're still waiting to hear back from ballistics."

"Was his face really chewed off by rats?"

"No," Beckett stated flatly.

"Oh." Castle deflated a little. "A plain vanilla crime scene then?"

"A plain GSW not good enough for you, Castle?" Espo jibed.

Beckett cleared her throat. "If you guys are finished, we do have a murder to solve, remember?" She turned to Espo. "Espo, you were saying?"

"Yeah," Espo stepped forward. "Before Castle finally decided to show up, I was just going to say we've got a positive ID on our vic. Sloan Kellington, 47, insurance agent."

"Next of kin?"

"A brother," Ryan answered. "Or his ex-wife; they divorced about a year ago. No kids."

"We'll start with the brother," Beckett decided. "We got his address?"

"Yup." Espo handed over a slip of paper.

Beckett glanced at Castle. "Well, Castle, you coming?"

"Why, Detective, I thought you'd never ask," Castle answered, falling into step beside her.

Beckett rolled her eyes a little in trademark fashion but otherwise didn't respond, as was her way. She wasn't given to idle chatter at the best of times and when there was a case to work on, she tended to be all business. It was hot. (Was it weird that he found Beckett's focus and intensity to be so hot?)

He pulled out his phone as it buzzed in his pocket to see that Alexis had sent a text message.

"You know, Castle, if you've got somewhere else to be, you don't have to stick around. I'm sure we'll manage just fine without you," Beckett told him dryly.

"Don't be silly, Beckett. Of course I don't have somewhere else to be."

"Except earlier when we got called to the actual crime scene," she pointed out.

"Sorry about that. Alexis and I were out grocery shopping for Thanksgiving dinner but we got that taken care of so it's all good. She just sent me a text to let me know she picked up the last of the spices we needed to get. Say, Beckett, that reminds me, what are your plans for Thanksgiving? You don't have to work, do you?"

"No, I don't work on Thanksgiving."

"So what are your plans for the day off then? Do you and your dad have something special planned?"

There was a split second of a pause, in which he belatedly wondered how hard a holiday like Thanksgiving was for Beckett without her mom around but she still had her dad, he knew, and he could guess how much her dad meant to Beckett. She wore his watch every day after all. And then she answered, "My dad and I are going out for dinner."

He blinked and didn't need to feign his dismay. "Going out as in going to a restaurant? On Thanksgiving?"

"Yes, Castle, going out to a restaurant and you don't have to sound like that. My dad and I have been there before and it's a nice place," she answered coolly.

"That's not the point, Beckett. It's the very idea of going to a restaurant on Thanksgiving in the first place. It's so impersonal and it's just not right. You should just come to the loft and have Thanksgiving dinner with us," he blurted out impulsively. Unthinkingly. But then his brain caught up to his mouth and he realized abruptly that he really wanted Beckett to come over to the loft, wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner with Beckett.

Which should have been more surprising than it was because he'd never invited a girlfriend over for Thanksgiving, of the few girlfriends he'd had that he'd allowed to meet Alexis in the first place. Gina's first Thanksgiving at the loft had happened when they were already engaged. Besides that, he'd wanted to avoid raising any expectations in his girlfriends that an invitation to Thanksgiving might imply.

Not that Beckett was his girlfriend. But still. He generally liked to reserve Thanksgiving—and Christmas—for family. Growing up, they had been one of the only times which his mother had always made a point of spending entirely with him, no one else. And so with Alexis, he tried to preserve that, with a few exceptions. Alexis's close friend, Paige, and her family had been invited one year when Paige's mom had broken a leg just a few weeks before, making it all but impossible for Paige's family to have a real Thanksgiving otherwise. And he'd acquiesced to his mother's cajoling a couple times and invited those of her cast members who didn't have any family in the area to come over. After all, it wasn't as if he disliked inviting people over, far from it. But the major holidays of Thanksgiving and Christmas, he generally preferred to spend with family.

But Beckett was… different.

And he did want her to come over for Thanksgiving.

He always wanted to spend more time with Beckett outside of work. He'd given up on trying to tell himself it was just as friends. He and Beckett were friends—at least, he thought so, hoped so—but he couldn't kid himself that what he felt for Beckett was limited to friendship. Or simple lust either (although admittedly there was a lot of lust mingled in because she was so incredibly hot.) What he wanted from her besides friendship wasn't entirely clear to him yet but it was something.

It was her turn to gape at him for a moment before returning her attention to the road. "You're inviting me to Thanksgiving dinner with your family?"

"Your dad's welcome to come too. It'd be fun," he added cajolingly.

"Ye—no—Castle, I can't join you for Thanksgiving!" Beckett sounded as close to flustered as he'd ever heard the usually unflappable Detective Beckett sound. "Thank you but I really couldn't. Thanksgiving dinner is for family."

"Family and friends," he corrected. "Come on, Beckett, you're not going to hurt my feelings and say we're not friends, are you?" he joked, putting on his best wounded puppy expression.

She didn't respond to that leading question. Predictably. (Well, it was worth a try.) "Anyway, Castle, you and Alexis already went out to do your shopping. My dad and I can't possibly barge in now and expect you to feed two extra mouths on such short notice."

He waved that off. "Oh, we always make enough food to feed a small army so don't even worry about that and this year, it's just going to be me, Alexis, and Mother to eat it all otherwise."

"Thank you, Castle, but I really couldn't," she repeated, still not sounding entirely like herself, before adding more briskly, "We're at the brother's place now, Castle. Focus."

He subsided as Beckett pulled over to park. He could wait and ask Beckett again later. After all, he hadn't really expected her to agree immediately, had he? She wouldn't be Kate Beckett if she acquiesced to an admittedly spur-of-the-moment invitation to something like Thanksgiving dinner at once. Beckett wasn't even inclined to come over to the loft for dinner on any regular day. (He knew; he'd asked, most recently after they'd gone to the concert by Skye Blue.) And a holiday dinner, a holiday dinner where he would get to meet her dad for the first time, had other connotations to it.

Holidays, Thanksgiving especially, were usually for families.

And he and Beckett weren't family. At least not yet.

Wait. What?

Castle abruptly slammed the brakes on his thoughts. Nope, not going there. Not going anywhere near there. He didn't—they weren't—Beckett wasn't—that wasn't what his invitation had been about. Really. It was simply a gesture of friendship since he'd meant it when he said that the idea of eating at a restaurant on Thanksgiving seemed depressing and Beckett of all people deserved more than that (she deserved everything—he ignored that little voice in his mind. It might be true but it wasn't up to him.)

But he did want Beckett to come to Thanksgiving dinner. He wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner with Beckett and her dad. Wanted to look across the table and see Beckett smiling at Alexis and his mother over turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing, wanted to surreptitiously watch her as she tried his special stuffing, wanted to have her humor and her calm composure offsetting his mother's melodrama since his mother tended to view holidays as an excuse to dial her usual exuberance and flair up to 14, on a 10 point scale.

He glanced at her to see that she was mentally steeling herself to talk to the victim's brother. She had the expression he'd come to recognize of her both finding her innate compassion and empathy for family victims while also strictly walling off her own emotions. He didn't know how she did it, break this worst of news to family members every day. He remembered what Captain Montgomery had said about Beckett's ability to reach out to grieving family members during the bike messenger case. _Better than anyone I know._ Castle didn't doubt it. She was amazing. Extraordinary.

He wasn't giving up on persuading Beckett to agree to come over for Thanksgiving now.

(He would never give up on Beckett, a tiny voice in his mind whispered.) But then the door of the brother's apartment opened and he forgot the thought, pulled into the moment, the drama of the story in the case, as always.

* * *

Later that evening, Kate found herself unable to concentrate on the TV, her thoughts returning again and again to Castle's invitation to Thanksgiving dinner, which he'd repeated when they were back at the precinct waiting for the boys so they could brief them about what they'd learned about the victim from his brother, and then again just before he left the precinct for the evening.

She'd ignored the repeated invitations both times—they'd been at work in the middle of a case, after all—but now she found the invitation returning to her mind.

It didn't take much imagination to picture what Thanksgiving dinner at the Castle loft would be like. Castle loved holidays, loved making a big deal out of things, and she did know from the breakfast she'd had at the loft the morning after the MADT fundraiser back in the spring that he was a good enough cook that she had no doubt he'd be making a full traditional Thanksgiving dinner, in typical over-the-top Castle fashion. She knew what it'd be like, the noise and warmth and vitality of Castle, Martha, and Alexis, all gathered together and in a celebratory mood.

It hadn't taken more than her few visits to the loft for her to know that the loft was, in spite of its size and undeniable luxury, a home, with all that entailed, warm and inviting and full of that indefinable atmosphere that a loving family imparted to a space to turn it into a real home.

Yes, she knew what Thanksgiving with the Castles would be like—loud and messy in the best of ways, the quintessential Thanksgiving feast with all the warmth and holiday cheer and, yes, love that was the ideal Thanksgiving dinner, the sort of thing one saw in the movies, as a family sat down around a table groaning with food.

The sort of Thanksgiving she hadn't had in ten years.

What was the damn man about? She couldn't figure him out, couldn't work out what he wanted from her.

And she didn't like it, didn't like feeling so confused and off-balance when it came to him.

It had been easy enough at first to dismiss him as a playboy out to get into her pants—he hadn't made a secret of that. _You have gorgeous eyes. I'd be happy to let you spank me. Ever drop your top, a little cops gone wild?_

A silly, irritating playboy, at that. She was used to thinking of him as the 12-year-old he so often acted like.

She'd gotten used to ignoring his veiled and not-so-veiled come-ons as just more evidence that he wanted a fling with her. (Which wasn't going to happen. She'd had one-night stands in the past, been there, done that, as the phrase went, and they were never really satisfactory and she wasn't about to become another notch on Castle's bedpost. No matter how hot he was. Not that she noticed. Much.)

And as of only months ago, she'd still been furious with him for looking into her mom's case behind her back, prying into the most private, personal part of her life for his own insatiable curiosity without a thought for her or how it might affect her.

But then he'd apologized—sincerely—and for once showed every indication of being willing to accept her decree that she didn't want him around anymore—if we're not going to see each other again, he'd said—and she'd forgiven him.

Since then, they had become actual friends, as he'd said. And when she'd heard about his offer for James Bond—the realization that he would stop following her around, that she could once again go about her work without some annoying writer tagging along—her first thought had been not happiness or relief (which, up until then, she would have sworn it would be, that she was counting down the days until he was done doing research) but dismay, the stark realization that after all, she didn't want him to go. They were friends but more than that was the image of going back to working only with the boys, no Castle around, and she'd thought it would be… boring.

Damn the man anyway, for insinuating his way into her work and her life, and for confusing her like this, the mixed signals he was sending out. She didn't know what he wanted from her. A fling? A friendship? A work partnership?

She could handle all that but now, with his invitation to Thanksgiving dinner with her _dad_ , no less, and his family, she didn't know anymore. Wanting to be introduced to her dad on Thanksgiving, of all holidays—marginally better than the connotations of being invited for Christmas but still. The only boyfriend she'd ever introduced to her dad like that (she didn't count her dad's interrogations of her high school boyfriends) had been Will and even with Will, even though at the time she'd started to think that maybe he could be the one, she'd been careful that their first meeting together had been on some normal day, a neutral day and location, not giving rise to any expectations.

Not that Castle was her boyfriend. But still.

Thanksgiving was for families.

And whatever else, she and Castle were definitely _not_ family. Would never be family.

Meeting her dad for the first time for Thanksgiving dinner in his home with his entire family—that was fraught with so many connotations the mind positively boggled.

He was a writer and whatever else he was, he wasn't stupid; there was no way he didn't know that. Even if the invitation had been thoughtless, on impulse (as she strongly suspected), his repeated invitations could not be written off like that.

So what was he thinking?

Not about having a fling, that was for sure. Inviting her dad to come too, to have a holiday dinner with him and his daughter and his mother—no, that wasn't something a person did for someone they viewed as a potential fling.

Friends then? But even for friends, an invitation for Thanksgiving to her and her dad seemed rather more fraught with significance. Didn't it?

Damn the man anyway.

Her phone rang and she answered automatically. "Beckett."

"Hi, Detective Beckett."

Speaking of the devil… Kate straightened up in her chair as she recognized the girl's voice. "Alexis, hi. What's up? Do you have more questions about studying abroad?" It was her best guess as to why Alexis, of all people, would call her.

"Oh, no, thanks, Detective. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"No, of course not. I'm happy to talk. What's up?" Kate answered sincerely. She liked Alexis. The girl was surprisingly mature, well-mannered, smart, and really very sweet. Not for the first time, she marveled that Castle had raised a daughter like that.

"Well, my dad told me that he invited you over for Thanksgiving."

"Oh." He'd told Alexis?

"And I just wanted you to know that you really would be welcome to come for Thanksgiving. It's not just one of those things Dad says without thinking it through or anything, Detective. I mean, I know Dad can be silly but he really does want you to come over. And we always make enough food to feed at least a dozen people and it's not unusual for us have people over for Thanksgiving anyway. We've had my friend Paige and her family over for Thanksgiving and one year, we invited all the cast members in Grams's play who didn't have family in the area to come over so it's not like it'd be weird or anything," Alexis said in a rush. Kate blinked. She'd never heard Alexis talk so fast or sound quite so unsure of herself. She sounded unlike the girl Kate had gotten to know. Sounded, well, more like a child of Castle's would be expected to sound, knowing Castle's tendency to prattle and open his mouth to insert his foot.

"Does your dad know you're calling me?" She didn't really think Castle would use Alexis as a go-between of sorts to get her to agree to his invitation but she had to ask.

"No, he just told me about his invitation to you to make sure I'd be okay with you and your dad joining us for Thanksgiving. I hope you do come, Detective Beckett, it'd be fun. And my dad said your dad's a lawyer so I'd like to ask him questions about what that's like, if he doesn't mind."

"I'm sure he won't mind," Kate answered automatically and then realized that she'd made it sound like she was accepting the invitation.

"So will you come over for Thanksgiving then, Detective?"

Alexis sounded so hopeful and Kate couldn't deny the appeal of the idea of Thanksgiving. Dangerous as it was to her own peace of mind, to get sucked into the atmosphere of home and family that the Castle family exuded and be reminded of all she'd lost, all she didn't have and might never have again. "I'll think about it and check with my dad and let you know, Alexis," she promised.

"All right," Alexis agreed. "I really hope you decide to come, Detective Beckett."

"Thanks for inviting me."

"I have ulterior motives of wanting to talk to you more about the precinct," Alexis said lightly and Kate laughed. How very Castle-like of Alexis to deflect with humor like that.

"You can always just call if you want to talk, Alexis."

"Thanks, I might just do that. Have a good night, Detective."

"Good night, Alexis."

Kate stared at her phone unseeingly after she ended the call, struck by the realization that she wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner at the loft with Castle and his family. It might be awkward and a little weird and a little confusing (to her) but she wanted it.

She knew what Thanksgiving would be like with her dad, the subdued dinner in a restaurant they both liked, the attempts to keep up a cheerful conversation that fooled neither of them. Holidays were always hard, Thanksgiving almost as hard as Christmas, and always reminded both her and her dad just how much they'd lost, how much they missed her mom. Her mom had been the life of Thanksgiving in their house, had enjoyed being able to take the time and go all out in cooking as her busy work schedule didn't allow very often, had loved the holiday and what it signified.

Kate had tried to make a smaller version of Thanksgiving dinner the second year after her mom's death but it had been a miserable failure. She'd broken down and cried as she cooked and her dad had started drinking before the food had been ready and kept up with it until he'd passed out in the middle of his attempt at eating.

They'd never tried to have a real Thanksgiving dinner again. Not even since her dad had been sober. Instead, they had only developed a habit of going out to eat dinner. Going out was easier, reminded them less painfully of when her mom had been alive, and they could pretend that it was just another dinner, not Thanksgiving at all.

Now, she thought about having a real Thanksgiving again—and oh, she wanted it. She'd missed it. And now, even though it might be awkward and confusing, she wanted it.

She was a grown-up. Surely she and her dad could have dinner at the loft with Castle's family without it changing anything about her relationship with Castle and without any additional implications worming in.

And she and Castle were friends. Alexis had said herself that Castle had invited friends over for Thanksgiving before.

Had she been a little silly for reacting the way she had, her thoughts leaping to the other connotations? As if anything at all were happening or going to happen between her and Castle. Which it wasn't. She wasn't about to have a fling with him. Not ever and certainly not while he was still following her for research purposes. They worked together, had become friends. And that was all.

Kate picked up her phone again to call her dad, who answered almost immediately. "Hi, Katie."

"Hi, Dad."

"This is a nice surprise. I was just thinking about you."

"I wanted to ask you something, Dad, about Thanksgiving."

"Oh, Katie, don't tell me you need to work after all," he said, his tone changing.

"No, Dad," she hurriedly answered, "that's not it at all. I'm still free on Thursday. I actually wanted to check with you because, well, Castle invited us to have Thanksgiving dinner with his family at his place," she finished in something of a rush.

There was a brief pause and then her dad repeated, "Castle, as in Richard Castle, has invited us for Thanksgiving dinner? Me too?"

"Yes, Dad, he specifically said that you're invited too and anyway, Dad, I wouldn't go without you."

"Well, that's very kind of him."

Kate made a noncommittal sound. Kind. Odd but it wasn't a word she'd ever really associated with Castle before—annoying, definitely, talkative, yes, funny, yes that too, and she couldn't deny his charm either—but kind? And yet, it really was. Inviting her and her dad, who was, after all, a total stranger to Castle, into his home so they could have a home-cooked feast with his family—yes, that was kind.

"What do you think, Katie, do you want to go? After all, you always complain about how irritating he is at work. I don't want you to have to suffer the company of someone you find insufferable," her dad said blandly.

Kate narrowed her eyes even though her dad wasn't there to see it. She knew her dad's tone. He might mean the literal sentiment but that wasn't his intention. "I don't mind the idea, Dad," she answered composedly. "I've gotten used to Castle, as annoying as he can be, and his daughter is actually really sweet. You'd like her."

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd rather like to go. It would give me a chance to finally meet this Castle of yours."

Kate choked on air. "He's not my Castle, Dad! We work together, at least temporarily, and I suppose we've gotten to be friends but that's it."

"I only meant that he's your friend, not mine, Katie," her dad answered innocently.

Kate let out an irritated, skeptical huff. She knew her dad too well to believe that. But she also knew better than to get into this with her dad. "Then I'll tell Castle tomorrow that we'll join him for dinner on Thursday."

"Sounds good to me. Tell him thank you from me and I look forward to meeting him."

"I'll tell him. And I'll let you know his address and what time dinner will be. Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Katie-bug."

Kate ended the call and then made a face at her phone, in lieu of being able to make a face at her dad. She knew her dad approved of Castle being her partner—where her dad had gotten such a positive impression of Castle from Kate's complaints about him, Kate didn't know but somehow he had. Her dad meant it when he said he was looking forward to meeting Castle.

And now she needed to tell Castle that she'd changed her mind and would go to the loft for Thanksgiving after all.

Kate grimaced. That was going to be awkward too.

On the other hand, if she knew Castle at all, he would ask again. He was persistent, she had to give him that. He would ask again and then she could make a show of giving in and things would be… easier… that way. More in line with their usual interactions where he pestered and she eventually relented. That way was safer, more normal. And she wouldn't need to admit that she might actually want to go to the loft for Thanksgiving. Wouldn't need to admit that the idea of spending time with Castle—and his family—outside of work wasn't, um, entirely terrible.

A little voice inside her head whispered that she was being a coward but she ignored it. It wasn't cowardly, just a little… indirect.

* * *

Castle knew—or was getting to know—Beckett too well to think that asking her repeatedly if she would come over for Thanksgiving would do anything to persuade her. He also knew that asking when she was preoccupied with the case wouldn't do him any favors either.

So instead he waited for the short interludes of down-time, when they were waiting for the warrants on the vic's phone records and financials to return, to tell Beckett stories about past Thanksgivings. He told her about how Alexis used to wrinkle up her nose in the most adorable manner as she concentrated on mashing the potatoes and the way Alexis used to beg him to let her be the one to pull the meat thermometer out of the turkey. He told her about the year he and Alexis and his mother had dressed up in costume as if to re-enact the first Thanksgiving, how he had been Squanto and Alexis had been the cutest Pilgrim in the history of the world.

"Your family dressed up in costume for Thanksgiving?" Beckett repeated.

He put on an expression of mock surprise. "Doesn't everybody?"

Beckett snorted. "No, I'm pretty sure that's just you," she said dryly. "But if you expect either me or my dad to dress up like pilgrims, you've got another thing coming."

Wait, but… "Beckett!" he exclaimed delightedly. "Does that mean you'll come over for Thanksgiving after all? I promise we won't be wearing costumes this year."

Beckett opened her mouth, closed it, looking a little flustered and he noticed with some fascination the faint tinge of red appearing in her cheeks. Beckett rarely blushed but she was now. She hadn't really meant to blurt out what she had. How very interesting… "I'm thinking about it," she finally said. "My dad's willing, I checked, but only if you're absolutely sure—and I'm serious, Castle, no jokes this time—that it won't be an imposition and you won't need to get any more food than you've already prepared to make."

Castle composed his expression into preternatural solemnity. "I promise that we've already bought plenty of food and you won't be an imposition at all. Ask Alexis if you don't believe me."

She studied him for a fleeting second, a look he couldn't read in her eyes. "In that case, Castle, you've got two additional guests for Thanksgiving."

He didn't need to feign his delight. "That's great! This is going to be such fun, Beckett, I promise you."

"My dad says thanks for the invite, by the way."

Castle waved a hand. "No thanks necessary. Really, Beckett, you know I like having people over and anyway, we always make way too much food because that way, we can take the leftovers to a local soup kitchen."

There was a brief pause as Beckett looked at him, surprise and other emotions he couldn't quite read crossing her expression. "You take the leftovers to a soup kitchen?" she repeated.

Castle shifted in his seat. He hadn't meant to admit that. He never talked about his various charitable endeavors and the Thanksgiving one he'd never mentioned to anyone. He'd forgotten, or something, in his eagerness to reassure Beckett that having two more people come over wouldn't require any additional food preparation. The habit of years had him opening his lips to make a joke out of it, say that it was a great place to meet women or that he did it because telling people about it always made him really popular—but somehow, he met her eyes and the words faded. No, he couldn't say that. They would be flat-out lies, which he generally tried not to do, but more than that, this was Beckett and she had a way of looking at him that practically seemed to compel honesty. It was like a superpower. "Yeah. We started years ago. I…" he glanced around to make sure no one else was in earshot but lowered his voice anyway, "I wanted to make sure that Alexis learned to appreciate how lucky we are, didn't want her growing up to be one of those spoiled rich kids, the ones who look down on anyone less fortunate and wouldn't lift a finger to help anyone else." He might have vowed years ago that he never, ever wanted Alexis to grow up worrying about money but he had also been to school with plenty of spoiled, entitled rich kids like that and he hadn't wanted Alexis to grow up like that either. It was one of the things he struggled with, of how to give Alexis everything she could ever want (which was his instinct) but not have her turn out to be some sort of spoiled monster.

Beckett gave him another look he couldn't quite read except that it was oddly appraising, as if she were seeing him for the first time. "You're… a nice man, Castle."

"You don't have to sound so shocked about it," he made himself joke to cover the way his silly heart was swooning inside his chest. Kate Beckett had just given him a spontaneous compliment! She thought he was a nice man! Nice might be a word he generally despised; as a writer, it was such a boring, bland word, but from Beckett… He felt like he'd just won a Pulitzer.

"Well, it is a shock," she retorted dryly and then her tone softened slightly. "You're not just the annoying 12-year-old you act like most of the time, are you?"

"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold," he quipped.

She rolled her eyes a little. "Your secret's safe with me." But then she gave him one of her real, bright smiles, the one that lit up her eyes with dancing sparks of green like emeralds on a forest floor. _Get a grip, Rick. That's just sickening._

"So any other traditions I should know about so I can warn my dad?"

"No, nothing really," he answered and then corrected himself, "Except, no, there's one thing. Before we start eating, we go around the table and each of us tells three things we're thankful for, big, medium, and small. So the big one is one of those necessities, like, oh, being thankful for good health. The medium one is something not quite as necessary. One year, I said I was thankful for the existence of comic books."

She huffed a laugh. "You're thankful for comic books, Castle?"

"What? They gave me hours of enjoyment and inspiration and the creative universes of the different super-heroes are some of the most enduring pillars of popular culture," he finished didactically.

She only rolled her eyes and he went on. "The small thing is something minor, like being thankful for a sunny day. You get the idea, Beckett, it's not complicated."

"Yeah, I get the idea, Castle. I'll tell my dad. What time should we come over?"

"Well, we usually eat Thanksgiving dinner really early, well before 5 p.m., so we have plenty of time to take the leftovers to the soup kitchen afterwards, so you and your dad can show up any time after 3:30 or so. That should give me and Alexis enough time to get everything ready."

"Can my dad and I bring anything? Dessert? A side dish?"

"No need, Beckett. We already got everything we need so just the pleasure of your company will be enough," he declared in his most grandiloquent manner just to see her give him one of her trademark eye-rolls. Which she did. And he felt a silly little flutter of delight inside him at the sight. Always keeping him on his toes and puncturing his moments of melodrama—that was Beckett, all right. And he liked it, liked her.

"Prepare to be dazzled by my culinary magnificence."

She snorted. "Culinary magnificence, really, Castle? If your ego gets any bigger, it would block out the sun."

He put a hand to his chest. "You wound me, Beckett, but that's only because you haven't tried my special stuffing yet. I'm expecting shock and awe, Detective."

"Not gonna happen, Castle. I'm not that easily awed," she told him dryly.

"Just wait, Beckett. Even Alexis admits I make the best stuffing."

"She's biased," she retorted quickly. But for once the words were rather belied by the real smile she flashed him, another of her real smiles, without the usual tinge (or more than a tinge) of sarcasm or sardonic wit or even reluctance, the tiny smiles that occasionally escaped her when he could see she didn't really want to smile. Not that he didn't like all her smiles, the snarky ones, the shy ones, the sexy ones and everything in between, but these real, bright smiles—oh, these were the ones he really loved.

Two real smiles in the space of as many minutes! He could really get addicted to the sight of Kate Beckett smiling at him.

Yeah, he was so doomed, falling for her so hard and so fast it was dizzying.

But she had agreed to come over for Thanksgiving. And maybe, just maybe, this would be his chance.

 _~To be continued…~_

* * *

 _A/N 2: Thank you, everyone, reading and reviewing._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter! I hope this second chapter satisfies. Partly inspired by the deleted scene from "Knockdown" because I love it so much.

 **Thankful**

 _Chapter 2_

What had she gotten herself into?

Kate's steps slowed a little as she stepped out of the elevator and headed down the hall to the door of Castle's loft. Even from there, she could hear faint sounds spilling out from inside, filtering through the walls. She could hear muffled upbeat music playing and then the sound of multiple voices, punctuated by a laugh—girlish, that she immediately guessed was Alexis. But the cheerful sounds had her briefly wondering if Castle had invited others to join them for this dinner. Of course Castle had every right to invite whomever he wanted to his own home but she didn't really relish the idea of a real holiday party, of socializing with strangers for a few hours, especially knowing what Castle's parties tended to be like. His Halloween party had been quite over-the-top enough and while she'd enjoyed it—pranking Castle for his trick with the made-up story from his childhood had been great—she wasn't feeling up to that sort of thing today. Thanksgiving, the memories associated with her mom, and the way it marked the traditional start to the holiday season tended to make her melancholy and she didn't like the idea of forced jollification with strangers.

Well, it was too late to back out now.

Kate mentally steeled herself as she knocked on the door of the loft, hearing the brief break in the sound of voices.

And then the door swung open to reveal Martha in a dress of cerise and bright green that was just a shade or two removed from being eye-searingly bright. "Katherine darling, you're here! Come in, come in!"

As she spoke, Martha had already been pulling Kate inside, taking the bag Kate was holding and waving a hand in the direction of the coat closet in one motion. "Put your coat away, you know where the closet is. And where is your father? Isn't he joining us?"

One quick glance had been enough to tell her that there were no unfamiliar faces. Typical of Castle and his family that just the three of them had managed to make it sound like a full-fledged party. Kate suppressed a smile at the thought, as she felt a little bit of tension unwind inside her. It would just be Castle, Alexis, Martha, and her dad. She could handle that.

"He's coming, just not with me because we're coming from totally different directions so he said he'd just take a cab on his own," Kate explained as she hung her coat up.

Alexis looked up with a smile and a wave from where she was standing at the kitchen island. "Hi, Detective Beckett. Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Hi, Alexis. Happy Thanksgiving to you too."

"Oh don't you look lovely," Martha enthused as she ushered Kate further into the loft. Martha was a whirlwind but Kate couldn't help but feel warmth blossoming in her chest at Martha's exuberant welcome.

"Thank you, Martha. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving to you as well, Katherine! Now, what is this? Oh, Katherine, this looks wonderful! Richard, look what Katherine brought."

Castle looked up from where he had been fussing over a beautifully-browned turkey. "Beckett, you're here!" He froze, the last word abruptly truncated as he stared.

Kate felt a little flutter in her chest at the way he was looking at her, suddenly self-conscious and aware that she didn't even have pockets that would give her something to do with her hands. "What, Castle?" She tried for bravado, to sound like her usual self.

He closed his mouth and then answered, his voice sounding oddly unlike himself, "You're wearing a skirt."

She'd decided to wear a skirt along with her sweater, reasoning that she shouldn't exactly wear jeans or look like she came from work for a dinner like this. The skirt was perfectly decent, cut to flow and not to cling too tightly to her hips and went down nearly to her knees, but the way Castle was staring at her—she felt a tide of color rising in her cheeks, suddenly feeling as if she were wearing a tight miniskirt that skirted the edge of decency, the sort of thing she'd had to wear a couple times when going undercover in Vice. Damn it. She was blushing! Just from a look! But there was something amazing and—and powerful—about knowing that the sight of her could stun him so, make Castle lose his train of thought so completely. Kate didn't often think about her looks, apart from being confident enough in her attractiveness; she had been the object of too many admiring glances from men to put much stock into it. But this was different. Castle, who was so used to having beautiful models and actresses on his arm, who had dated and probably slept with some of the best-looking women in the City. That the man who signed women's chests at his book release parties, and was normally so smoothly charming, so much the brash playboy, could be affected by her so strongly just… did something to her. She could resist—mostly—his smooth charm but this—this sincerity, this awe—she didn't have many defenses against it, against a Castle who was so clearly bowled over by her.

But she managed a quirk of her lips, a more usual roll of her eyes. "Well spotted, Castle."

"I just… you don't wear skirts that often."

Never for work, except in the occasions when she needed to dress up to go undercover. She made herself shrug. "I'm not on duty today."

"No, no you're not," he affirmed rather absently before almost visibly shaking himself. "You brought dessert? You really shouldn't have. I told you we had everything under control."

"It's just a pie. And anyway, since when do I do what you tell me to?"

He gave a brief laugh. "Touché, Detective. Well, now we have three pies for dessert and cookies too. Can I get you something to drink? We have water, juice, soda, apple cider, tea, and of course, coffee, if you want it."

Kate scanned the island where the little array of drinks was sitting out, mentally preparing how to subtly mention to Castle not to offer wine or any other alcoholic beverages to her dad when he arrived, when she realized that there was no alcohol in sight. No wine or champagne or beer or anything. She looked at Castle, meeting his eyes, to see one of his insouciant smirks. But for once, something about the look in his eyes told her that his apparent carelessness was a facade and that the absence of alcohol was deliberate. Because her dad was coming. Oh. She felt a treacherous warmth in her chest. She hadn't really expected—after all, she'd only told Castle about her dad's struggles once, more than six months ago, and never mentioned it again. She'd been prepared to have to remind Castle. Not because she didn't trust her dad's sobriety—she did—and she would be there at dinner in any case—but, well, there was no need to put temptation into his way or otherwise remind her dad. She was used to being careful like this where her dad was concerned. It was, although she hadn't admitted it, part of the reason she'd been a little relieved that her dad had insisted that he could just take a cab to Castle's loft and she didn't need to go out of her way to pick him up, so she could arrive a little early and make sure no alcohol was served. And she knew enough of Castle's—and Martha's—habits to know that wine was a near-constant staple with their dinner.

Not today. Because her dad was coming and Castle had remembered. Remembered about her dad, just like he had remembered her coffee order so many months ago. She felt a little flutter of some emotion she didn't try to identify at the thought of how Castle remembered these things about her, the way he reacted to every tiny little piece of information she let slip, the way his eyes widened, his lips curving. She tried to tell herself it was just research, that he was just trying to get details right for Nikki Heat, but that story was seeming more feeble by the day.

She couldn't help but smile at him, a silent thank you in her eyes, but all she said was, "The apple cider sounds good, thanks."

"One glass of apple cider coming right up."

He moved around the island to the drinks and she suppressed a smile as she got the full effect of his apron, a surprisingly subdued black with gray accents but when he moved, she realized that it had a _Star Wars_ theme, a shadowy image of Darth Vader and the words "The Force is strong with this one" printed on the front. Typical Castle. And she absolutely did not notice the way his rolled-up shirtsleeves revealed and seemed to emphasize his strong forearms or the deftness of his large hands as he opened up the bottle of apple cider and poured out a glass. She didn't notice. She didn't care. It didn't matter to her.

That was her story and she was sticking to it.

He handed her the glass of cider, her fingers brushing against his as she accepted it, sending an errant little tingle through her fingers and into her hand. Damn it.

He poured himself a glass as well and touched his glass to hers in a brief toast. "Happy Thanksgiving, Beckett."

"Same to you, Castle." She turned to surveying the array of food. "Is there anything I can help with? Alexis?"

Alexis flashed her a quick smile before returning her attention to the baking pan she was spooning sweet potatoes into. "No, that's all right, Kate. The sweet potato casserole just needs to be baked for a little while but otherwise we're all done."

"Don't forget the marshmallows!" Castle interjected.

Alexis rolled her eyes a little. "Dad, you'd never let us forget the marshmallows."

"They're the most important part!" he defended, picking up a bag of marshmallows on the counter and popping a couple into his mouth. "Ready?"

Alexis made a gesture with her hands. "Go ahead, Dad."

He poured the marshmallows into the baking pan until Alexis elbowed him. "Dad, stop! That's too much!"

He made a face at her. "You can never have too many marshmallows."

"Da-ad!" Alexis made an exasperated face at him.

"I think Alexis is right, Castle," Kate chimed in with a quick smile at the girl. "It's supposed to be sweet potato casserole with a topping of marshmallows not a marshmallow casserole with a crust of sweet potatoes."

Castle gave her a look of theatrical dismay. "You haven't even been here five minutes and you're already taking sides against me? How my hospitality is repaid!" he lamented histrionically.

"Get over it, Castle, You ought to be used to me disagreeing with you by now," she told him rather tartly.

"See, Beckett agrees with me. Now move, Dad," Alexis inserted, nudging Castle so she could put the casserole dish into the oven. "There!"

"Alexis, darling, can you give me a hand?" Martha asked from where she was fussing over the place settings at the table.

"Of course, Grams," Alexis agreed brightly and hurried off, leaving Castle to watch with a faint, fond smile curving his lips, as usual.

He really was such a good dad, she thought, struck by it all over again whenever she saw Castle with Alexis. It was easy to forget with how he usually acted so immature, the hyperactive man-child that he was, but then she would see him with Alexis. Still overtly silly but with an underlying depth of feeling, of, well, responsibility too with how he worried over the girl.

He blinked at her. "What?"

"Just admiring the spread of food, Castle," she answered lightly and not untruthfully. There was quite an array of food, with close to ten different covered dishes on the counter alongside the turkey. It looked like more than enough food to feed the entire homicide division at the precinct. "You sure there's nothing I can do to help?"

"All taken care of, like Alexis said. We're pretty much ready to go once your dad gets here."

"Really, this is all way too much. I wish you'd let me help, bring some of the side dishes, at least. You and Alexis must have been cooking all day."

Castle shrugged. "Not really. We did about half of it yesterday so today's been pretty relaxed, actually. Believe me, Beckett, Alexis and I have done Thanksgiving prep for the last few years so we've got a system for it and a schedule for when to make what dish and everything so things don't get too rushed."

"Let me guess, Alexis was the one who came up with the system."

He glanced around and leaned forward with the air of one about to impart a secret. "She's such a slave-driver. It's terrible."

She laughed out loud, couldn't help it. He was just so… cute was the only word that came to mind, as much as she hated to think it, with his confidential pose, the droll mischief lighting up his eyes and his expression, even as his eyes were soft with affection for his daughter. "Yeah, I can see you're clearly suffering terribly."

"Your sympathy is overwhelming," he quipped, matching her sarcasm.

"I think you'll live."

Her words were interrupted by the sound of a knock. And that must be her dad, as punctual as always.

"That'll be my Dad," she explained unnecessarily and moved towards the door.

Martha beat her to it, opening the door with one of her trademark dramatic flourishes. "You must be Jim Beckett. I'm Martha Rodgers, Richard's mother. It's wonderful to meet you! Now, come in, come in, make yourself at home!"

"Hello, Ms. Rodgers."

"Oh, call me Martha. We don't stand on ceremony here. Richard has been talking about Katherine so much it seems like she's practically family so that makes you family too."

"Hi, Dad," Kate quickly stepped in, seeing that her father was looking a little overwhelmed by Martha's extravagant welcome and gestures, to say nothing of her flamboyant dress. She was curious to see what her dad would make of Martha, who was practically his diametric opposite, being loud and exuberant where her dad was reserved and tended to quiet.

"Oh, Katie, there you are."

Kate greeted her father with a hug, accepting his kiss on the cheek. "You've met Martha, of course, but come and meet Alexis and Castle."

Kate slipped her arm into her dad's as she accompanied him to the table. "Dad, this is Alexis. Alexis, my dad, Jim Beckett."

Alexis smiled and shook Jim Beckett's hand. "Hi, Mr. Beckett. It's nice to meet you."

"Hello, Alexis. Katie tells me you made quite an impression when you were volunteering at the precinct recently."

Alexis flushed a little. "Oh, not really. I was mostly just cataloguing little, unimportant stuff," she demurred.

"I think Anna Knolls would disagree with you on that," Kate told her with a smile. "She's the woman whose family photos Alexis returned," she added for her dad's benefit.

"It wasn't hard work or anything so I didn't mind doing it."

"Well, I, for one, think that was a wonderful thing you did," her dad said approvingly.

"Thank you, Mr. Beckett," Alexis smiled with a touch of shyness.

Her dad returned Alexis's smile and Kate saw that her dad, at least, was already entirely won over by one Castle, at least. (Unsurprisingly.)

And then it was Castle's turn. God, she was about to introduce Castle to her dad! If anyone had told her she'd do this a couple months ago, she'd have sworn they were out of their minds. What was she doing, letting Castle meet her dad, putting a sizable chink in the wall of distance she tried to keep between the work life that Castle had insinuated himself into and the rest of her life?

"Dad, this is Rick Castle. Castle, my dad, Jim Beckett."

Castle hurried out from behind the island to shake her dad's hand. "Mr. Beckett, it's an honor to meet you, sir. I'm so glad you could join us."

"Thank you for inviting me and please, call me Jim. I feel like I know you already. I've heard a lot of great things about you from Katie."

Wait, what? She hadn't—when had she—what was her dad saying? Kate felt herself flush. "Dad!" she hissed.

Castle's eyes widened a little and Kate felt his quickly withdrawn glance. "Really? Well, that's nice to hear. I guess she saves all those nice things to say about me for when she's talking to you," he joked.

Kate turned to Castle. "He's just being polite. I have _not_ been saying great things about you." She inwardly winced. That had been rude, too blunt, and she suddenly felt a twinge of guilt but then felt better as she saw from Castle's teasing look that as usual, the words appeared to have slipped off him like water off a duck's back. For the first (and probably last) time, she was thankful for Castle's ego.

Anyway, it wasn't like what she'd said to her dad about Castle had been untrue, she told herself, ignoring the fact that even her inner voice was starting to sound rather petulant. She'd said he was annoying, immature, egotistical, a wise-cracking jackass, like a rambunctious puppy with no sense of boundaries, and someone who didn't take anything seriously. She might have admitted, once, maybe twice, that he'd turned out to be surprisingly helpful on some of their cases but that was it. She didn't know what her dad was talking about.

"Oh, Katie's not one to flatter so I'm inclined to believe the nice things she's said."

Oh, now that was too much. "Dad! What are you talking about? I haven't—"

Her dad finally turned to look at her. "I read between the lines, Katie. I'm a lawyer, after all," he answered blandly.

She narrowed her eyes at her dad as she heard Castle smother a laugh and turned her glare onto Castle. On second thought, clearly letting her dad meet Castle had been a mistake.

Her dad turned back to Castle. "I read your book, the one you based on Katie."

Kate stared at her dad. "You read _Heat Wave_?" her question overlapping with Castle's, "Oh, well, thank you."

"I enjoyed most of it very much." There was the faintest emphasis, a slight shift in tone, on the word "most."

Most of— _oh shit._ Kate abruptly remembered Page 105 of _Heat Wave_ and felt her entire body seem to go up in flames as she blushed scarlet. Her dad had read that?!

She didn't want to look at Castle, didn't want to see him with the memory of Page 105 in her head, but her eyes had stopped obeying the instructions of her brain and darted over to see Castle abruptly looking ill at ease. Good. Served him right.

"Well, uh," he began less than fluently, "while my books are grounded in reality, a lot of aspects of them are just… fantasy…"

Kate choked on air.

"Not my personal fantasy—just my imagination," Castle hastily added and then backtracked, "Not that I imagine that about—uh—I need to check something in the oven, excuse me!" he blurted out and then he fled.

Leaving Kate to try desperately to cool her cheeks. "I didn't know you'd read _Heat Wave_ , Dad," she said, trying to sound calm and collected. She was Detective Kate Beckett; she'd worked in Vice. There was no reason to blush because her dad—oh god, her _dad_!—had read a (fictional!) sex scene involving her and— _not_ her because she _wasn't_ Nikki Heat and Castle wasn't Jameson Rook and she should have shot Castle when she found out about Page 105 anyway. Not that it mattered because there was _nothing_ going on between her and Castle and never would be. Ever.

Her dad raised his eyebrows a little. "Did you really think I wouldn't read a book that was written about my own daughter?" Put like that… But really, it had never occurred to her to think her dad would read Castle's book. Her dad wasn't one for reading mysteries or popular fiction in general, usually read classics, nonfiction history, legal books, and the occasional book about sports.

"I know Castle's books aren't really your type of thing and anyway, I am not Nikki Heat. Most of that is just a product of Castle's overactive imagination."

"Oh, I don't know. I found Nikki Heat to be intelligent, quick-witted, determined, and brave." He paused. "Call me biased but that sounds an awful lot like you to me, Katie."

She bit her lip but a small smile escaped her anyway. "Thanks, Dad. So you liked the book?"

"I did, actually." Her dad glanced toward Castle and then added, his voice dropping slightly, "Rick knows how to tell a story and his characters are surprisingly well-rounded and three-dimensional."

"Mom would be so thrilled," Kate blurted out before she'd thought. It was true. She found herself suddenly remembering times when her dad had teased her mom for liking Castle's books so much, calling them 'low-brow popular fiction' or 'fodder for the masses' as a joke, and her mom retorting that she could recognize good writing when she saw it, unlike Jim who liked to read boring books.

Her dad's expression faltered, becoming more sober before he quickly manufactured a small smile. "I can hear your mom saying, I told you so, even now."

A sound that was half a laugh mingled in with the beginnings of a sob escaped her. "Mom did say she'd get you to read one of Castle's books eventually."

"As always, your mom was right." A flash of pain crossed her dad's face. "I shouldn't have been so stubborn in resisting all those years."

She could have kicked herself. She knew how much her dad still missed her mom. "I still don't think Nikki Heat is much like me, though."

"Well, there are differences but overall, I could see the resemblance," her dad commented and then added more cheerfully, "And I definitely liked the dedication."

The dedication. Kate felt treacherous warmth blossoming in her chest at the memory of that dedication and, yes, of the look in Castle's eyes when he'd assured her that he'd meant it. "Yes, well, I suppose Castle has his moments."

Her dad smiled. "Well, I, for one, am inclined to like anyone who thinks you're extraordinary."

She returned his smile. "I—"

"Okay, dinner is served, everyone!" Castle's announcement interrupted her and she and her dad both turned towards the kitchen. "We do things buffet style for Thanksgiving so everyone, help yourselves. Mother, would you like to do the honors and start?"

"I would love to, Richard. For now, we feast!" Martha declared with an expansive gesture that made it seem as if she personally were responsible for the whole feast, the invitation to dinner, and possibly the entire tradition of Thanksgiving in America. Kate caught Castle's grimace and suppressed a smile. Martha was irrepressible and unique and as much as her mannerisms were overly dramatic for real life, it was hard not to like her for all that, as open-hearted as she was and facing life with such zest and energy.

"Jim, what would you like to drink?" Castle queried. "There's apple cider, soda, juice, water of course, tea, or coffee if you'd prefer."

"Water is fine for me, thank you, Rick."

"Water it is," Castle declared. "Please, Jim, go help yourself."

It was a few minutes as they all filled their plates and then sat down at the table, Castle going last and taking the seat at the head of the table with Kate and her dad on one side and Alexis and Martha on the other.

"Now, Happy Thanksgiving, everyone," Martha declaimed. "Here we are, all healthy, and it's just wonderful that Katherine and her dad are able to join us for the first time. I must say, we do have a lot to be thankful for. Richard?"

"Yes, Mother, I'll start," Castle said and Kate started a little as she felt him grasp her hand. She shot him a look, opening her mouth to protest, but then realized that he had also taken Alexis's hand and Alexis had taken Martha's and Martha had reached across the table to grasp Jim's. Kate felt her dad's glance and then her dad took her hand, completing the little circle. Well, if it was part of the Castle family tradition… It was fine. No big deal. Never mind that it seemed she could feel the warmth from Castle's hand holding hers along her entire arm.

She wasn't noticing.

She tore her gaze away from the sight of their joined hands, from the way his hand practically dwarfed hers. He had nice hands, strong fingers, neatly-trimmed nails, his skin soft and uncallused. She wondered what his hands would feel like if he touched her elsewhe— _no, stop that!_ She slammed a mental door on her errant thoughts. Not going there. Absolutely not. Because it was never going to happen. Ever.

She focused her gaze on Alexis instead. Sensible— _safe_ —girl.

"This year, I'm thankful for Alexis, first of all."

To Kate's surprise, Alexis rolled her eyes a little. "Not again, Dad," she sighed and then leaned across the table to address Kate, _sotto voce_ , "He says this every year."

"Well, it's true every year," Castle defended. "It's certainly not my doing that you keep being so amazing."

"Dad, really," Alexis scolded mildly but her words were entirely belied by the softness in her eyes, the faint smile curving her lips.

Castle cleared his throat loudly. "If you're done interrupting me, I'm also thankful to Bob Weldon."

"The Mayor? Why?" It was Kate's turn to interrupt before she could think better of it.

"Because he's the one that arranged for me to shadow you," he answered as if it should be obvious.

Kate felt a little unwilling but undeniable flutter inside her. As she'd said to her dad, Castle did have his moments. In spite of how annoying he could be at times, there was something so… disarming about him, about how much he appreciated spending time with h—shadowing her for research. It wasn't about her personally, she reminded herself. "Right, I forgot he's the one to blame for you," she managed to joke.

Castle made a face at her. "And lastly, I'm thankful that Connelly and Patterson are such bad poker players that I won for the third time in a row at our last poker night. Revenge for their teasing me over not being as prolific as they are."

"Oh Richard, honestly!" Martha's scold overlapped with Alexis's "Dad!" and Jim Beckett's laugh.

"Me next," Alexis said brightly. "I'm thankful for my friends, who are always there to make me laugh and try new things. Next, I'm thankful to Detective Beckett."

Kate straightened up in surprise, meeting Alexis's eyes, as the girl went on, with a quick smile. "For letting Dad shadow her because it gets him out of the house a lot more—"

"Hey!" Castle protested.

Alexis smirked at him. "It gives me a lot more freedom with him not around."

Kate and Jim both laughed while Castle huffed.

"And lastly, I'm thankful for Dylan."

Castle emitted something like a growl and Kate glanced at him in some confusion.

"It's so nice to have a violin teacher who really understands and feels the same passion for music as I do," Alexis finished, ignoring Castle's scowl and his disgruntled huff.

Dylan. Who was—oh, wait, Kate abruptly remembered where she'd heard that name. He was the one that Castle had called Juilliard about, a month or so ago, Alexis's violin teacher that Castle had wanted to run a complete background check on, that time when Alexis had stopped by the precinct to ream Castle out.

"Well, isn't that nice. Richard, do stop making faces," Martha added before continuing, "I am thankful, first, for my God-given dramatic talents that has allowed me to support myself and Richard for most of his life," Martha began.

Castle's sigh was audible and Kate suppressed a smirk.

"Next, I'm thankful to be in my new play that's allowing me to challenge myself every day. And lastly, I'm thankful for My Face, that's allowed me to reconnect with many old friends and Chet."

Kate frowned a little, confused at Martha's phrasing. She was grateful for her face?

"Mother means her MySpace account," Castle said in an explanatory aside. "And Chet is Mother's old high school sweetheart and current victim."

He referred to his mother's boyfriend as her victim? Kate shot him a scolding look even as she had to bite her lip to hold back a laugh.

"I heard that, Richard," Martha chided him.

"Yeah, really, Dad, don't be mean," Alexis added.

"On that note, I think it's my turn," Jim spoke up, humor in his voice.

"Yes, thank you, Jim," Castle interjected fervently.

"Well, first of all, I am thankful for Katie."

Kate caught her dad's eye, exchanging small smiles with him as he squeezed her hand briefly.

"Next, I'm thankful to have work that's both challenging and fulfilling. And lastly, I'm thankful to Rick for inviting me here today."

"You're very welcome, Jim," Castle responded, his words overlapping with Alexis's "We're happy to have you, Mr. Beckett."

"Thank you, both for inviting me and for cooking this meal. Everything looks delicious," her dad responded. "Now, Katie, I think it's your turn."

Kate hesitated for the briefest second. She had thought, a little, about what she would say but now that the moment was here—well, the thing she was most thankful for was having her dad back but she found she couldn't say that aloud, not with Martha and Alexis watching her. It was too personal, touched too closely on her dad's past troubles, which she rarely spoke about and didn't want to mention now.

"I'm thankful for Captain Montgomery, who's taught me everything I know about homicide. I'm also thankful to have such good partners at work. Cops have a saying that any cop is only as good as her partner and I have some of the best in the force."

"Why, thank you, Beckett."

She shot Castle a teasing look. "I was talking about Esposito and Ryan," she retorted—truthfully.

"Touché, Detective."

"And last, I'm thankful that our last case was a relatively straightforward one so we could solve it quickly enough that I didn't need to worry about work today." She might like the weird ones but every once in a while, she did appreciate having a straightforward case, a Jack-shot-Jill-over-Bill case as the cop shorthand rhyme went—or more appropriately, a Jack-shot-Bill-over-Jill case since it had turned out that Sloan Kellington had been shot by a co-worker who'd found out that Sloan had slept with his wife.

"Hear hear," Castle agreed.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Even though you thought the case was boring?"

"I'd rather—I didn't want to have to go to the precinct today either," he corrected himself. "Anyway, let the feast begin!" He released her hand-and it was ridiculous how her hand immediately felt cold, oddly bereft at the loss of his warmth—to make an expansive gesture, exaggerated in typical Castle fashion. But for once, Kate thought that he was doing it as a cover, to distract from what he'd started to say. He would rather—what? Would rather she not have to work, would rather she be able to join him at the loft than need to go into the precinct? She cut off her speculation abruptly. She didn't need to know.

She exchanged quick smiles with her dad and then they all started to eat. And a feast it really was, what with rolls, a salad, the turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potato casserole, two kinds of stuffing, two kinds of cranberry sauce, corn, and a green bean casserole.

She remembered what Castle had said about his "special" stuffing and made a point of trying both kinds of stuffing first. "Oh, this is delicious!" The unguarded words escaped her of their own volition and she belatedly realized that Castle hadn't even started eating yet. He'd picked up his fork but had paused to watch her.

She met his eyes, feeling her cheeks flush a little as she made herself quirk her eyebrows at him. "What, Castle, are you going to eat or are you just going to keep up with your creepy staring and watch me eat?"

"No, no, I'll eat," he answered quickly and blindly stabbed at his plate with his fork, his eyes not leaving her. "You liked the stuffing?"

"It's great," she found herself answering honestly, not downplaying it at all.

His expression seemed to break open with delight, his eyes lighting up as he grinned, one of his real smiles that was, for once, untinged with smugness.

She returned his smile, couldn't help it. He really had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen… And she just… liked him. For the first time, she allowed herself to think it, acknowledge it, without reservations or caveats. Sheliked Castle.

What that meant, how far it went, she didn't know and didn't bother trying to figure out. All she knew, all she acknowledged, was that she really did like him. Something inside her chest melted softened, a mess of emotions she didn't try to identify bubbling up inside her. He just looked so… delighted that she liked the stuffing (that he'd cooked), so happy to have done this little thing to please her. As if it were a privilege just to have made her smile. How was she possibly supposed to resist him, to preserve any sort of distance between them?

She couldn't.

A flutter of instinctive caution, of warning, took flight and she blinked and turned away, returning her attention to her plate.

But a little glow of warmth lingered in her chest as she ate and she tried not to be too conscious of his nearness, of his occasional glances at her.

It was fine. It was nothing special. They were friends, after all.

Just friends. Only that and nothing more.

 _~To be continued…~_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing!

This last chapter is brought to you by the letters U, S, and T. Enjoy.

 **Thankful**

 _Chapter 3_

Dangerous.

The word flittered along the edges of her consciousness as the dinner progressed. This was so dangerous. And she possibly (probably?) shouldn't have agreed to this.

But then she heard her dad laugh at something Alexis said and saw him smile at the girl and she couldn't bring herself to regret it at all.

It was all so… seductive was the word that came to mind, as inappropriate as it seemed when it involved Alexis and Martha and her own dad. But in its way, it really was. She didn't know how Castle and his family did it, maybe by their open-heartedness, their gregariousness, but they just… pulled her in. And she could see from whenever she glanced at her dad that he felt the same, succumbing to the charm and sheer force of personality of the combined Castles.

It should have been—and at the beginning, in some ways, here and there, it was—a little awkward, as Castle and Alexis at first engaged her dad in the courteous small talk of people who didn't know each other very well. But Martha never even made a pretense of making small talk and spoke and acted as if she had known Kate and Jim for years and they were already part of the family. And before long, Alexis started to tease Castle and he retaliated and Kate couldn't help but interject, chiming in on Alexis's side, falling into the usual back-and-forth nature of their banter at the precinct and somehow, without her even consciously realizing it, the atmosphere changed, shifted. Ably assisted by Martha, who was at her lively best, or something, and told dramatic (probably exaggerated) stories that had even Jim enthralled and cracking up with laughter, and as they all relaxed further under the influence of good food and good humor, it started to feel more and more like a… a family meal.

The thought, the word, gave her a fleeting moment's pause, a twinge of something like melancholy, wistfulness, tugging at her. For a fleeting moment, her smile faltered as she thought of her mom, imagined her mom there too. Her mom teasing her and her dad, her mom talking to Alexis, her mom getting to meet an author whose books she'd liked so much…

As if they were all family.

Family. She wanted it, missed it so. Jim chuckled at something Castle said and Kate blinked, pulled back out of her reverie, exchanging quick smiles with her dad. And the little tug of grief faded in the glow of the present, dissipating like mist in the sunshine. And for once, she didn't try to think of all the reasons why it was dangerous, risky, to get so drawn into the atmosphere of warmth and affection and family that Castle and his family were so good at creating and just let herself enjoy it. Enjoy the warmth, the sense of… belonging that came with being surrounded by people who cared...

Her dad sat back in his chair with a soft grunt. "I may never eat again," he joked.

"Oh, but we haven't even had dessert yet," Alexis spoke up.

"Nonsense, Jim, Thanksgiving is a day to indulge, after all," Martha agreed.

Kate threw her dad a look of mock commiseration. "I guess that means you won't be able to have any of Mom's apple pie that I made. That's too bad."

"You made your mom's special apple pie? You should have said, Katie. For that, I'll _make_ room, you know that."

"Well, with an endorsement like that, now I'm really looking forward to dessert," Castle exclaimed, pushing himself to his feet and picking up his plate as well as Kate's before she could react.

"I can clean up after myself, Castle," she quickly demurred.

"Too late, Beckett, I've already got it," he returned quickly, stacking her dad's plate on top of hers.

"Here, Dad, let me help," Alexis offered, suiting action to the words and collecting her plate along with Martha's.

Castle shot Alexis a quick smile. "Thanks, pumpkin."

"I must say, I think the best part about having grown up kids is being able to leave the chores to them," Martha joked, looking over at Jim. "Although in my case, it's debatable whether Richard is actually a grown up or not."

"Hey, I heard that!"

Jim and Kate both laughed.

"It's your own fault for acting like a 12-year-old most of the time, Castle," Kate quipped.

Castle made a face at her. "Haha, Beckett. Keep it up and I won't offer you a postprandial coffee. Jim," he asked with slight emphasis, "would you like coffee or tea with dessert?"

"Coffee would be great, thanks, Rick."

"Decaf or regular?"

"At this hour, better make it decaf."

"One decaf coffee it is," Castle answered, moving over to his coffee pot that looked so complicated it might have been from outer space and then getting out another regular coffee pot.

It wasn't long before the smell of coffee permeated the loft and Kate took in a deep breath, enjoying the rich scent and letting it relax her even more than she already had been. She didn't know if it was possible but Castle's coffee seemed to smell so much better than any regular coffee did. She wondered just how expensive the coffee he bought was, most likely too expensive for her to be able to afford it, even if she was more inclined to spend money on good coffee than she was on other things. But her idea of expensive and Castle's would differ significantly.

On the thought, the reminder of his wealth, she marveled, not for the first time, that a multi-millionaire could apparently be content to spend most of his days hanging out in the far-from-luxurious precinct with a bunch of cops. So much so that he was thankful to the Mayor for allowing it…

Martha and her dad's easy chat faded into the background for a moment as she considered that. That shadowing her was something Castle was thankful for. It was so… weird and freakish of him to be so excited over murder. She had never in her life met anyone who was so excited by, well, everything but about murder and the work of homicide detectives more specifically. She and other cops tended to get jaded about it, found shorthand phrases to describe case types, and even she had to retain a certain amount of distance from it all, the fact that she dealt with death every day. But she could admit that meeting Castle, having him follow her around at work, had injected a new feel to her work days. One she would miss when he had done enough research for Nikki Heat and stopped shadowing her.

"Your coffee, Jim."

Castle's voice, his presence abruptly looming over her shoulder as he handed her dad a steaming mug of coffee, brought Kate out of her little reverie.

"Thanks, Rick."

"I wasn't sure what you take in your coffee," Castle went on, offering a little bowl of sugar along with some packets of artificial sweetener. "And there's milk or cream if you want it too."

"Actually, I usually take my coffee black."

"Oh, well, then, that makes things simple."

"I know, it's boring. My—wife used to tease me about it," her dad finished, not quite smoothly, and Kate inwardly flinched at the almost imperceptible way her dad's voice changed when he referred to her mom.

Kate glanced quickly at Castle and realized that he, at least, had caught the change—he was perceptive like that—but didn't say anything and only retreated back to the kitchen with the unused sweeteners for the coffee.

He returned in a moment, though, this time with two mugs, one of which he placed in front of her. "Your coffee, Beckett."

Just one look at the coffee and she knew that he had already fixed it just the way she liked it. Without her even needing to ask. Just as he always did at the precinct. "You know me too well, Castle. Thanks." And maybe it was part of the atmosphere of the whole evening—it was Thanksgiving, after all—but she couldn't quite help the unguarded smile she gave him.

He shrugged off the thanks, but his expression gave away his pleasure. "You get cranky without coffee."

She narrowed her eyes at him and he hastily added, "But then again, so do I."

"It's true," Alexis called out from the kitchen. "One time we actually ran out of coffee and I swear passersby on the street could probably hear Dad grumbling about it."

Castle turned to throw Alexis a look of exaggerated betrayal.

"So Rick, how did you get to be such good friends with the Mayor?" her dad asked, distracting Castle.

"Well, it mostly started because it turns out he's a fan of my books," Castle began, retaking his seat and leaning forward to address Jim. Close enough that Kate could swear she could feel the heat radiating from his body. Which was ridiculous because it wasn't like he was in any way intruding into her personal space; if it had been either Espo or Ryan, she wouldn't have noticed or cared. But this was Castle and when she breathed in, she could catch the scent of his cologne—damn but the man smelled good—and he was close enough for her to reach out and touch him and as always, the top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing the strong, smooth curve of his neck, the hollow of his throat, and she found herself wondering what his skin would taste like if she touched her tongue to that sp— _stop it!_ Kate yanked the brakes on her errant (insane) thoughts and rather jerkily pushed herself to her feet. "Let me help you, Alexis," she said hurriedly and joined the girl in the kitchen, her cheeks and her body cooling the further she got from Castle.

Ugh, god, what was _wrong_ with her?! She wasn't—she absolutely _wasn't_ going to think like that about Castle!

"Oh, that would be nice, Detective Beckett," Alexis smiled. "The pie you made looks delicious."

"Call me Kate, Alexis. And thanks. I hope it turned out okay. It's my mom's recipe and I haven't made it in a long time. Your pumpkin pie looks amazing."

"Oh, thank you." The girl glanced around and then added with the air of someone confessing to a heinous crime, "We just use ready-made crust from the store to save time so it's not really a big deal."

Kate suppressed a smile. Alexis had clearly inherited some of her grandmother's and her father's sense of melodrama. "I usually do too." She hadn't today because she'd had time and also, she'd felt a little on her mettle knowing that Castle and Alexis would be preparing the entire rest of the meal by hand while she would only be contributing a single pie.

Alexis grinned. "I won't tell if you won't."

"Thank you," Kate said with exaggerated gravity.

The girl laughed and then went on, "Will you cut the pies while I get out the dessert plates?"

"Sure."

Kate's attention to the pie-cutting was momentarily distracted at the sound of her dad's chuckle and she glanced back at the table to see that Castle was grinning as he gesticulated. The knife paused in her hand for a fleeting second as it abruptly occurred to her that her dad and Castle really were getting along. Of course Castle was a personable guy, charming, so it didn't mean much, she told herself, and yet somehow she was aware of a little renegade flicker of… something… inside her at the thought. Not that it mattered. It wasn't as if her dad and Castle were likely to see each other after today.

"Detective Beckett—Kate," Alexis corrected herself, a little tentatively, "about what I said earlier, about being thankful to you for getting my dad out of the house a lot more, I was kidding about that. I mean, I wasn't kidding about being thankful to you, I am but it's because, well…" Alexis's eyes darted back to Castle for a moment. "I know that my dad likes to goof off and so he probably won't tell you this but he's just happier since he started to shadow you and so I'm thankful for that."

Oh damn. Kate felt an unwilling but undeniable flutter of pleasurable butterflies in her chest. Castle was really happier because of working with her? When was the last time that she had made anyone, aside from her dad, happier? Her work entailed that she saw people at the worst times of their lives; she wasn't in the business of making people happy. But Alexis thought she had made Castle happier. She felt a flush heat her cheeks and to try to cover for it, she hastily demurred, "I don't think that has much to do with me personally though, Alexis, but that's sweet of you to say."

"No, it's true, and it is about you, about the way you inspired Nikki Heat and, well, you haven't seen the way Dad can sulk when he's got writer's block but since he started working with you, he hasn't really had writer's block once. But it's not just about Nikki Heat; it's everything else too because he really does like it at the precinct. I can tell from the way he talks about it and the way he acts when you call about a case. So thank you."

Oh god, how could she possibly respond to that? She couldn't deny Alexis's thanks without sounding like some sort of Scrooge and she couldn't disbelieve Alexis's words. If anyone would know Castle and his moods, it would be Alexis. "Thanks for telling me, Alexis," she finally settled for saying and then added, although she made sure to pitch her voice low enough that Castle couldn't hear it, "Your dad can be silly but he's also been surprisingly helpful in solving cases so you don't need to thank me. He's made our team case closure numbers go up and that keeps the higher-ups happy with me so it's a good deal for me too," she added with some forced levity.

"Yeah, Dad always says he's brilliant," Alexis grinned.

Kate laughed. "He's really modest like that, isn't he," she quipped.

The girl let out a peal of laughter as she and Kate exchanged rather conspiratorial grins in a moment of shared humor.

"What's so funny, Alexis?" Castle called out. "Want to share with the rest of the class?"

"I was just telling Kate about the Great Deep-Fried Turkey Incident of 2008 and how you looked with your singed-off eyebrows," Alexis answered, dropping a quick wink at Kate.

Kate couldn't help a laugh. The Great Deep-Fried Turkey Incident? Such a Castle-like thing to do, to give dramatic names like that to things that happened. And Castle had singed off his eyebrows? They had obviously grown back, her mind suddenly flooded with images, memories of him waggling his brows at her, his brows quirking, his brows drawing together as he frowned in concentration over some evidence. (God, when had she become so familiar with his very eyebrows, of all things?)

"You aren't supposed to be spilling all my secrets, Alexis," Castle pretended to scold.

"Sorry, Dad, I forgot," Alexis answered entirely unrepentantly, giving him a cheeky smirk.

Castle huffed but was instantly distracted as Alexis and Kate returned to the table bearing dessert. "Ooh, goody, this is the best part of Thanksgiving!" he enthused with his usual childlike glee.

Kate hid a smile. He was ridiculous. And adorable. The word darted into her mind and she momentarily froze. No no no, absolutely not. She was _not_ going to start thinking of Castle as being adorable in any way; he _wasn't_. Not a bit. She quite deliberately called to mind all his annoying wisecracks, his smirks, his vanity. There, that did it. He was not adorable. At all. Really.

She helped Alexis in serving everyone with their requested dessert, her dad opting for her apple pie (of course) and a tiny sliver of the pumpkin pie while Castle recklessly said he would have a slice of all three pies.

Kate watched her dad's expression. His eyes briefly closed and then he turned to give her a rather watery smile, his eyes suffused with emotion, as he reached out to squeeze her hand. "Oh, Katie-girl, it tastes just like your mom used to make it."

"Thanks, Dad," she said softly, her throat feeling tight as she was bombarded with memories of her mom bringing out the pie, one time when her mom had surprised her dad with her special apple pie—to celebrate her dad winning a big case, if she remembered correctly—and her dad tugging her mom down to sit on his lap and her mom's half-hearted protest had been lost in her laughter as she returned her dad's kiss…

Kate had forgotten that moment, she suddenly realized, but the memory returned in a rush as she watched her dad try the pie, saw the emotions flickering across his face.

It was suddenly too much, the emotions she could read in her dad's expression too much, too personal, and she had to quickly look away, her gaze snagging on Castle.

Castle, who had, she realized, seen everything but was studiously pretending utter obliviousness to the emotional undercurrents—and it _was_ a pretense.

He put on a show of inspecting the slice of the apple pie on his plate before taking his first bite with all the drama of a judge on a cooking show and then made another show of chewing slowly as if to get a full feel of the flavor of the pie. He was practically smacking his lips before he widened his eyes at her in exaggerated surprise. "Why, Beckett, I had no idea you could cook."

Silly, ridiculous man. Silly, ridiculous, _thoughtful_ man. She felt an emotion she couldn't name coiling in her chest, warming it. Oh, this man, making such a production out of trying the pie she'd made to provide a distraction, covering for her and her dad's emotions.

It was, for once, hard to manufacture a smirk. "The things you don't know about me could fill a book."

"I have no doubt about that, Beckett," he responded with utter seriousness, in one of those lightning-quick changes of tone that startled her.

"Katie doesn't often have the time to do so but she's actually quite a good cook," her dad spoke up, having apparently pulled himself together. "You should really try her lasagna sometime."

"Dad!" She forgot her more poignant emotions in embarrassment. How could her dad so blithely suggest that she cook for Castle? Introducing her dad to Castle was turning out to be a worse idea every minute.

"Maybe if I beg, grovel a little, and then ask really nicely," Castle quipped, his eyes dancing.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't bet on it, Castle."

He promptly put on an exaggerated pout. "Spoilsport." And Kate tried very hard not to notice the way his pout drew her attention to his mouth. (Nope, not noticing.)

"I'm impressed, Katherine," Martha spoke up, distracting Kate (thankfully). "You catch killers for a living and you cook too. Is there anything you can't do?"

Kate gave a little self-deprecating laugh. "I don't think I could ever be an actor like you are," she said lightly—and truthfully. She had a well-developed poker face and wasn't even good at showing her own emotions so projecting emotions of some role she was playing was miles outside of her comfort zone.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Katie," her dad chimed in. "Some of your performances in your old school plays were quite… memorable."

Kate felt a blush heat her cheeks as she knew quite well what her dad was referring to. The year she'd played a tree in the school play came to mind; her dad had never—and apparently would never—let her live it down. And if word got out about it, she might just have to shoot herself. "Dad!" she hissed, shooting her dad a look that promised dire retribution if he said another word about her childhood theatrical attempts.

Martha laughed. "Ah well, we can't all be actors."

"Luckily, we don't need to act to show our appreciation for this dessert," Castle spoke up. "Alexis, as always, your pumpkin pie is a masterpiece."

"I agree, the pumpkin pie is delicious," her dad said.

"Thank you." Alexis looked so guilelessly pleased that Kate couldn't help but smile at the girl. She was really amazingly polite. And the pumpkin pie she'd made was good, although Kate thought she actually preferred the chocolate pecan pie Castle had made. She would need to spend an extra hour—or two or ten—working out to make up for the indulgence but she decided it was worth it.

Her dad put down his fork and sat back. "Okay, now I'm really never going to eat again. It looks like you're going to be living on the leftovers from today for the next month."

"Oh, not really, Mr. Beckett," Alexis answered. "We'll keep some for ourselves but we take most of the leftovers over to the local soup kitchen. That's why we make so much food."

"Alexis likes to do it so I let her," Castle shrugged, with an expression of nonchalance.

Kate remembered what Castle had said, the look on his face, as he'd explained that he didn't want Alexis growing up as one of those spoiled rich kids. He was pretending, again, she thought, hiding behind feigned indifference.

Kate somehow sensed, felt, the fact that her dad carefully didn't look at her before he addressed Alexis. "That's nice. We used to do the same thing when… when we had Thanksgiving dinner at home," her dad finished and Kate inwardly flinched. When her mom had been alive was what he meant. "Katie's mom used to insist on it so it was a tradition of ours, every year from when Katie here was five or six or so."

"Really? I didn't realize. It's a tradition of ours too," Castle said and Kate felt his quick glance and tried not to flush or look in any way self-conscious. She could have mentioned their own tradition of going to a soup kitchen to Castle but she hadn't. The words, the admission, had formed in her mind but caught in her throat. She didn't share easily, certainly not her memories of her mom. "We started a few years back when Alexis was 8, I think, and have kept up with it ever since. I've even become friends with the director of the soup kitchen by now."

Kate felt, again, the little tug of… something she didn't care to identify at the realization that she and Castle had something in common, a shared tradition, which suddenly seemed such an intimate thing to share. And more, that somehow, Castle reminded her of her mom, which she never would have expected. When Castle had said what he had about reminding Alexis of how fortunate they were, he had sounded very much like her own mom. She remembered her mom saying something very similar to explain to the young Katie why they went to the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving.

Her mom would have liked Castle as a person, Kate thought for the first time, just as much as she had liked his writing. Just as her dad already did like Castle.

"When do you plan to leave for the soup kitchen, Rick?" her dad asked.

"Don't feel like you need to hurry to leave, Jim," Castle assured him quickly. "It's why we eat this dinner so early so we'll have plenty of time before needing to leave."

Jim smiled slightly. "That wasn't what I was worried about but thank you." He turned to Kate. "Katie, why don't you go with Rick and Alexis to the soup kitchen? It would be like old times with your mom. If that's all right with you, of course, Rick," he added.

Wait. What? Kate stared at her dad. "But I…"

But before she could go on, Alexis jumped in. "Oh, yes, you should come too, Detective Beckett. It'll be fun and they always need more volunteers to help out with the Thanksgiving crowd."

Put like that, if she refused, she'd look like a Scrooge, wouldn't she? Although she doubted that had been Alexis's intention. The girl's smile was too transparent, too guileless, to be anything other than sincere in her invitation.

"Well, I…" she hesitated.

"You're more than welcome, Beckett."

"You always used to enjoy going to the soup kitchen with your mom, don't you remember?" her dad added.

Kate narrowed her eyes a little at her dad. He returned her look with one of limpid innocence.

Kate inwardly grimaced and gave in to the inevitable. Not that she minded, on principle, volunteering at a soup kitchen or that she even disliked the idea of spending yet more time today with Castle and Alexis. What she didn't appreciate was being cornered like this. Mental note, strangle her dad the next time they were alone. "Why not," she agreed, mustering a smile more for Alexis's benefit than anyone else's. "I don't have anything else planned and I'd like to help," she added somewhat more graciously. "Dad, why don't you come too?"

"I'd love to, Katie," her dad answered smoothly, "but I promised Dave and Judy I'd stop by this evening."

"Oh, well, that's too bad. Say hi to Mr. and Mrs. Radecker for me," Kate smiled, momentarily forgetting her irritation with her dad. Dave and Judy Radecker were old family friends of her parents. Her dad had lost contact with many of them, including the Radeckers, after her mom's death and with his troubles but she was glad to know that her dad was reconnecting with the Radeckers. It had only been in the last couple years that he'd started to reach out to the old friends that he'd lost contact with and she knew how important it was to him.

"Great, that's settled, then," Castle said, sounding ridiculously pleased.

Kate felt a little flock of butterflies appear in her chest—god, his eyes were as deeply blue as the Hope Diamond—and hurriedly looked away from Castle, addressing Martha. "Martha, will you be coming with us?"

Martha waved a hand in one of her extravagant gestures. "That's kind of you, Katherine, but I've already made plans to meet with some old friends of mine."

Thank goodness for Alexis, Kate thought—and then told herself she was being silly. She didn't need to hide behind a teenage girl to avoid being alone with Castle. She was a cop, for god's sake! And there was nothing going on between her and Castle! They were just friends. Really.

So she told herself firmly and steadfastly refused to feel any tug of attraction to Castle. Her resolve lasted for the rest of the time at the loft as she helped Alexis and Castle wrap up the leftovers while her dad and Martha chatted (or more accurately, Martha recounted another dramatic story to the audience of one that was Jim Beckett). Then there was a little flurry of goodbyes as Martha sailed out of the loft, after dispensing scented hugs all around, followed shortly after by her dad, whose farewells were much calmer. Alexis seemed to surprise herself as much as Jim when she gave Jim a quick hug, although Jim returned the hug quickly enough.

Kate hugged her dad in turn. "Happy Thanksgiving, Dad."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Katie-girl." Her dad kissed her cheek. "This was fun today and your pie was delicious."

"Thanks, Dad."

Castle saw her dad to the door and they shook hands with Jim thanking Castle again for the invite and Castle demurring and then Kate slipped her arm around her dad as she accompanied him the rest of the way to the elevator.

"You were right that Alexis is a dear and I like your Castle," her dad volunteered.

"I could tell," Kate said rather dryly, giving him a look that said she hadn't forgotten the way he'd basically railroaded her into agreeing to go with Castle and Alexis to the soup kitchen. But she couldn't muster up any real annoyance at it anymore.

Her dad looked unrepentant as he met her eyes. "He cares about you, Katie."

Kate tried not to flush. "Castle and I are just friends, Dad."

"Mm hmm," her dad murmured agreement—but with a slight quirk of his eyebrows that expressed skepticism.

"We are," she reiterated definitely.

"I didn't disagree."

Kate gave him a look. He hadn't disagreed very loudly.

Predictably, her dad ignored her look and only went on, "Have a good time this evening. I think it'll be good for you to go with Rick and Alexis to the soup kitchen together. Places like that always need more help on holidays, you know."

She gave up. Her dad could suspect whatever he wanted; he would learn eventually. When Castle had done enough research for Nikki Heat and stopped shadowing her and she and Castle remained only friends who rarely saw each other, if ever. (She tried to ignore the fact that the thought was not a happy one.) "Yeah, Dad, I'm sure I will. We'll talk soon, okay?"

"Take care of yourself, Katie."

Her dad left and Kate returned to the now much quieter loft to fall in with helping Castle and Alexis pack up the rest of the leftovers—or trying to, since Castle persisted in saying she was a guest and therefore exempt from helping out.

But soon enough, all the food was packed up, in boxes and bags, and Castle had called a private car service to drive them the short distance over to the soup kitchen.

The soup kitchen—or more specifically, accompanying Castle to the soup kitchen—proved to be a revelation.

They were welcomed enthusiastically, if a little hurriedly, by the director of the soup kitchen, who Castle introduced as Charlie Sliwinski, and then almost immediately provided with aprons and set up at one of the long tables to help serve food, Kate serving the stuffing, Alexis the cranberry sauce, and Castle the turkey. And for the next couple hours, they were kept busy serving food to the steady stream of people coming by.

Kate felt a little awkward at first, unpracticed, since it had been years since she had accompanied her mom to a soup kitchen to help out and she was hardly used to serving food in something of an assembly line, but she found after a while that she was enjoying it. It was easy work and rewarding to see the way people were so transparently grateful, to see the smiles lighting up the faces of the children, in particular, and the way everyone responded so cheerfully to her Happy Thanksgiving wishes. It was so different from work, when she was always breaking the worst of news to people. Now, for these few hours though, she was part of making people smile and that was a nice feeling.

It was also relatively mindless, all of which allowed her to spend way too much of the next two hours observing Castle. And she couldn't seem to not watch him either, partly because he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, the better to reveal his strong forearms to Kate's gaze (okay, so he hadn't done it for that reason but the effect was the same) and partly because all this showed her a new side of Castle that she hadn't seen.

She knew he was good with people. She had seen the way he worked the crowd at his book release party for _Storm Fall_ and more recently for _Heat Wave_ and she'd also seen the way he behaved at his book signing years ago. She knew how charming he could be and how cocky—oh yes, she knew Castle's flirtatious playboy persona very well.

But this—this was different.

The crowd at his book signings and book release parties were fans and at the parties, at least, many of them were wealthy, part of the glitterati of New York society, the social milieu in which Castle, too, belonged by virtue of his wealth and fame.

The crowd here was very different.

For one thing, it was relatively clear that even Charlie Sliwinski wasn't really aware of who Castle was, in the sense of being a celebrity and a multi-millionaire. Charlie probably knew that Castle was a writer but that was the extent of it, Kate guessed, judging from Charlie's demeanor in greeting Castle and what little he'd said in their brief conversation.

As for the people coming to the soup kitchen for their Thanksgiving dinners, even though it was fairly clear that many of them came here every year and were greeted familiarly, many even by name by Charlie and by Castle, it was plain that not a single one knew who Castle was. Unsurprisingly, of course, as leisure reading was a luxury that the very underprivileged could hardly afford, both in terms of time and money.

The crowd was different-and Castle himself was different, perhaps in response to it. Oh, Castle was still charming. (That, Kate suspected, was innate in him, a charm that went part and parcel with his smile and his eyes and his general good looks to make him as attractive as he was.) He still had a way with people that had quite a few people pausing and even holding up the line for food at certain times while they talked with Castle. And although Kate couldn't hear much of what was said, judging from their expressions and their demeanors, they were sharing stories of the last year and Castle was listening, listening with a genuine interest that seemed to invite confidences. (And maybe that was part of Castle's trick with people. Whatever else, he was genuinely interested in finding out more about people, part of his story-teller's mind that he always liked to learn people's stories. This part of Castle's character, at least, Kate was familiar with because it helped not infrequently with witnesses and other persons of interest in their cases.)

But it might have been the only thing about Castle's demeanor that she recognized.

This Castle was… unassuming, somehow, down-to-earth. This was not a man whom one could ever imagine being comfortable with public speaking or flirting with a roomful of twittering starlets as he signed their chests.

He still joked around, made people smile and laugh, but the humor was milder, just as this Castle was more subdued.

This Castle was… a nice man, a good guy. A stranger watching might guess that Castle was wealthy if they had the fashion nous to recognize the quality and expensiveness of Castle's clothing but even that observer wouldn't realize that Castle was also a celebrity, on first name terms with the Mayor and all.

Actors played to their audience, of course, and Kate was beginning to realize that Castle might have inherited more of Martha's acting ability than was generally known. She was beginning to think that Castle wasn't really the jackass playboy persona that he played so well and this new side of Castle could, of course, just be another role. But she couldn't help but remember a saying that one should judge a man by how he treated those who could do him no good whatsoever, the way a man treats those who are inferior to him in position. It was true. Just about everyone would treat their superiors, those who were useful to them in some way, nicely but the real test of character was how a person treated those who could not do them any good.

These people certainly qualified in that respect. Castle didn't need them. They weren't fans, whose opinions Castle rather did need to respect so they would keep buying his books; they weren't members of the media; they didn't have useful connections.

And Castle didn't need to do any of this. This wasn't a publicity stunt to bolster his image, the way some politicians and celebrities did. This was just Castle giving freely, generously, of his time and his labor and, yes, his charm too in order to help out, make these people's lives just a little bit brighter.

Kate glanced at Alexis beside her, who was smiling as she chatted easily and freely with a wizened old grandmother. She was suddenly reminded of how Alexis had put so much effort into restoring Anna Knolls's old family pictures to her, the understanding of how important such pictures would be. Showing a sense of empathy that was rare in most teenagers, who were usually so prone to thinking that the entire world revolved around them, and especially in teenagers from rich families.

A chip off the old block, Castle had called her. Kate had dismissed the words as Castle's typical ego and self-aggrandizement—and of course they were, in a sense—but she thought now that he hadn't been wrong either. Alexis was Castle's daughter—and whatever Castle's flaws, he had raised—was raising—a good kid.

Her eyes returned to Castle, seeing his familiar good-humored smile, untainted by any of the smugness she usually associated with him. He was still irritating, his silly theories, his hyperactiveness, his vanity, his tendency to wiseass quips—but he wasn't only that. She was beginning to think the jackass playboy she'd first met and that he still often acted like wasn't the true Rick Castle at all, any more than this subdued, blander version of Castle was his real self. No, the real Rick Castle was, she suspected, closer to the man she glimpsed whenever he was around Alexis, still given to silliness and joking around, but more tempered, more serious, like the man she occasionally saw in the rare occasions she talked to him about her mom.

The real Rick Castle was, whatever else, a good man.

As if he sensed her gaze or her thoughts, Castle turned his head and caught her watching him, their eyes meeting and holding for a second as an expression she couldn't read flitted across his face. She felt heat prickle in her cheeks and had to look away, turning to smile and greet a middle-aged woman as she gave the woman a helping of stuffing.

But if she'd thought that looking away from Castle would keep him out of her mind, she'd have been proven very wrong.

She couldn't decide if she was thankful or not when the stream of people coming in for dinner slowed to a trickle and Charlie came over to thank them and tell them that they were welcome to leave, that he and the other actual staff could take over from here. By now, even Alexis was drooping a little, so Castle didn't protest. Their goodbyes were brief, although Charlie's thanks were sincere, and it was only a few minutes before Kate, Alexis, and Castle were back in the luxurious town car Castle once again called up, giving Kate's address before she'd even had time to think of it.

"Oh, I could just take a cab," she protested rather lamely.

"Too late, Beckett. May as well just sit back and enjoy it."

She pretended to huff in mock annoyance. Grasping at normality. "Don't tell me what to do, Castle."

"So you're not going to enjoy the ride just to spite me?" he asked, his eyes dancing, a smirk tugging at his lips.

She bit her lip but knew her smile escaped in spite of that. "Shut up, Castle."

"Make me."

Oh, she could think of so many ways to shut him up, her eyes getting snagged by his mouth, the mouth she could silence with her own— _stop it! That wasn't going to happen._ She rolled her eyes instead. "What are you, a 5 year old?"

"I think he acts more like a 10 year old," Alexis interjected.

Kate grinned at Alexis as Castle bridled in mock offense. "Ungrateful child," Castle pretended to scold.

Alexis only shot him a cheeky grin. "I learned it from you, Dad."

"I am the soul of filial respect!" Castle declared with a commendably straight face.

"And who was it that referred to his own mother's boyfriend as her victim at dinner today?" Kate pretended to wonder aloud.

"Must have been my evil twin," Castle shot back without missing a beat.

"An evil twin, really, Castle?" Kate asked, pretending to click her tongue against her cheek in mock disappointment. "How prosaic of you. I was expecting pod people taking over your body or demonic possession, Castle," she quipped.

He laughed out loud and grinned at her and she tried to tamp down the ridiculous little bubble of pleasure inside her at making him laugh.

The momentary silence in the car was broken as Alexis yawned and Castle chuckled softly, patting Alexis's hand. "Tired, pumpkin?"

Alexis nodded. "Long day. A good one, though." She turned to smile at Kate. "Thanks for coming today, Detective."

"I had a good time and I thought I told you to call me Kate, Alexis," Kate returned Alexis's smile.

The girl gave a sheepish little smile. "Sorry, Kate."

The rest of the short ride back to her place was passed in silence. Alexis had pulled out her phone and was engrossed. Castle was quiet, for probably the first time in hours, his eyes resting on Alexis with one of those faint, tender smiles that mostly existed in his eyes, making them look very soft and very, very blue.

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes, and Kate abruptly forgot how to breathe, her lungs seeming to freeze in her chest. His eyes, his expression, were still so soft, not the same as when he looked at Alexis—of course not—but they were warm and steady and sincere and suddenly all she could hear in her mind was her dad's voice saying, _he cares about you, Katie_.

She cut her eyes away quickly, looking out the window and realized—thank god—that they were just reaching her block. She almost flung the car door open the second the car stopped and practically leaped out of the car—because it was late and she was tired and so was Alexis and she should leave them so they could go back to the loft that much quicker. That was all. Not because of… anything else.

She bent to look back into the car. "Have a good night, Alexis, Castle."

Alexis looked up from her phone to smile at her quickly. "Good night, Kate."

She straightened up and turned towards her apartment only to hear the car door open and then Castle was hurrying to join her on the sidewalk. "What, Castle?"

He gave her a look as if she'd asked what day it was. "I'm walking you to your door."

She rolled her eyes a little. "I'll be fine, Castle. I'm a cop, remember?"

"Doesn't matter, Beckett. My mother raised me so that whenever I accompany a woman home, I provide door to door service," he declared loftily.

She huffed a soft laugh and didn't bother protesting. Partly because she didn't feel like arguing with him and partly because she already knew it would be a waste of her breath. "Oh fine, if you insist."

He paused only to assure Alexis he'd only be a minute and then he was back at her side before she reached the door of her building.

"Thanks for the invitation, Castle. I had a good time."

"Thanks for coming." He paused and then added, "I liked your dad."

She smiled. "He had fun today."

"And now I really want to hear all about these memorable school plays that you were in when you were little, Beckett."

She couldn't help a soft laugh even as she flushed. "Not going to happen, Castle. I've sworn my dad to secrecy." Or she would, the next time she talked to her dad.

He gave an exaggerated pout. "Please, Beckett? You've heard lots of my mother's stories about the theatre and Alexis already told you about the time I tried to deep-fry a turkey; surely you can't deny me just one little story about your thespian past?"

"I surely can," she shot back rather tartly.

He huffed. "Mean, Beckett. And after I spent an entire day slaving away to cook for you too."

"Nope, still not telling."

She bit her lip to hold back her smile as he gave her a pleading puppy-dog look that was so ridiculously over-the-top it was comical. It really was such fun to tease him.

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Oh fine, be that way. Cruel woman."

They had reached her door and she turned to face him. "I really did have a good time today," she said again, rather inanely.

"So did I. I'm glad you came," he said quietly, his expression entirely serious, sincere now. It still threw her off a little when he looked at her like this, when he was so serious, not the silly joking man-child she was so used to seeing in the precinct.

"Well, have a good night, Beckett."

"Hey, Castle?" she blurted out, the words leaving her lips of their own volition before she'd even realized she was going to speak. She just knew she suddenly didn't want this evening to end just like that.

"Yeah?"

"I—I just…" She just—what? She looked at him, seeing his faintly curious expression, the question in his so blue eyes. _He cares about you, Katie._ And he'd looked so happy that she'd liked his stuffing and he was thankful to be spending time with her and even his daughter said that he was happier because of following her at work and he'd been so kind to all the people at the soup kitchen and he really wasn't the jackass he pretended to be… Thoughts, memories, emotions from today were swirling around in her mind in a confusing mess. She needed to say _something_.

"There's another thing I'm thankful for that I didn't mention earlier."

The faintest smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "What else are you thankful for?"

 _You._ No, no, that was too much, sounded too personal. "These past months, working with you…" she began instead. "I—I guess you could say I've gotten used to you pulling my pigtails."

His eyes crinkled a little at the corners as his smile deepened.

She reminded herself to breathe. "I have a hard job, Castle, and having you around makes it a little bit more fun." As amazed as she was for admitting it, for even thinking it, it was true. He irritated her, yes, but he also made her laugh. And laughter was something that had been in short supply in her life for too long. "So I guess, what I mean is, thank you."

Before she could think about it, she gave in, just once, to the pull he seemed to have been exerting on her all day long (and before today, if she had to admit it) and stepped in closer, her one hand rising to lightly grasp the lapel of his jacket. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face, feel the faint species of tension, of uncertainty, that gripped him. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek.

She could feel the warmth of his hand resting lightly on her back, not quite holding her but not quite not. She drew back slowly, conscious of a dragging reluctance. He was so warm and solid and strong and…

And dangerous. It was too much, this _thing_ between them too strong.

She forced herself to step away and his hand dropped away from her back. She told herself she was imagining the sudden loss of warmth even through her coat.

His eyes blinked open, wide with surprise and something softer than that. "I'm thankful for you too, Beckett."

He'd obliquely said as much in saying he was thankful to the Mayor but hearing the words still did something to her. He was _thankful_ for her. As annoyed as she was—had been—at the way he had weaseled his way into her work and her life and her feeli—no, her thoughts, not… anything else—she couldn't feel annoyed at it anymore. Because he was thankful to be shadowing her. And the sentiment entirely belied his annoying cockiness and she knew, now, that he wasn't really the smug jackass he acted like.

And this man, who had made her work—her life—more fun (even if she hadn't been willing to admit it until very recently), was thankful for _her_ —and for the first time, it occurred to her to wonder why. She hadn't really done anything for Castle, not really. And yet, somehow, he could say he was thankful to know her, to have her in his life.

She forced a small smile. "Alexis will be waiting. Night, Castle."

"See you Monday."

Kate escaped inside her apartment and sank back against the door. Her cheeks still felt uncomfortably hot, her heart beating a little too fast. And she swore she could still feel the warmth of Castle's skin against her lips like a phantom touch.

Ridiculous, irrational.

She forcibly controlled her breathing. This wasn't like her; she didn't do this. She couldn't do this.

She and Castle were friends. Nothing more.

He was in her life for now, playing at being a cop, and if he had made her work a little more fun, a little easier, well, that was an unlooked-for benefit. But it wasn't forever. He would leave, finish his research and go back to his comfortable life as a multimillionaire.

 _He cares about you, Katie…_

Maybe he did—for now, only for now.

She and Castle were friends. That was all and that was enough.

That had to be enough.

 _~The End~_

* * *

 _A/N 2: I felt I had to end it this way, with Caskett just taking a small step forward._

 _But a sequel is in the works so please don't kill me! *runs and hides*_


End file.
